Flight of the Sparrow
by windowpane
Summary: The story of Isabelle Sparrow, the sister of Jack. Begins with describing the birth of both and a glimpse of their parent's life told by Silvia Wilfred, Jack and Isabelle's mother. In Progress. Rated for a few things in the current chapter and the future.


Disclaimer: I do not own any PotC characters, places, etc., just my own. It all belongs to Disney blah, blah, blah.

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Prologue: Part One 

Silvia Wilfred 1653

It was a laborious and painful birth, but I shouldn't have expected differently. It wasn't enough that because of my naivety and absence of willpower I was being disowned by my family. God was punishing me for my wrongdoing; He was telling me: "Silvia Rose Marie Wilfred the Third, this is what you get."

I am of noble blood, or was. The roots of my surname are deep within the upper-crust of English society, so my sad attempt to escape from a world of silver trays, lace, hair-pins, and harpsichord lessons should not have been surprising. I was trained to be the perfect host and house guest, not to resist the fathomless dark-chocolate gaze of a pirate. Once in those eyes, it was impossible to get out, even if I wanted to. Only when we were inside the dingy room of a lowly tavern had I found my skill for unlacing corsets actually useful. His hands upon my bare flesh had brought more pleasure than I could ever feel singing like a trained street monkey to an audience of wealthy relatives. My time with David Sparrow was like fire, but only satisfied me for the second it took to strike the match. He was an addiction and I could not stop meeting him night after night.

Those days of bliss ended sooner than expected and my life crashed swiftly down upon me. One morning, while my servants were dressing me I noticed that my stomach had taken on a more rounder shape. It was clear to me what was occurring, as my monthly cycle was already two weeks late. I went through the day the best I could, but once I had retired to my room for the night I could no longer conceal my growing dread. I immersed myself into a childish bout of self pity. In the ignorance of my youth and my spoiled upbringing, I could not possibly imagine what I had done to deserve this. After dismissing my chambermaids early, I collapsed in front of my mirror and sobbed until my eyes were sore and my face was raw. Soon exhausted, I fell asleep fully dressed.

The next morning, I was fueled by fear to start doing something other than crying and wishing that this never occurred. I was forced to temporarily end my affair with David if I wished to keep my pregnancy secret from him. I left David a letter to meet me eight months from now, saying that my family was taking a holiday to our plantation in the Americas and I would go with them, not to arouse any suspicion of me having a lover. To my advantage, David planned to spend only a few months in England, then after that he' d return to the Jamaican Islands to continue on with his "business". I would not have to fear avoiding him in public to uphold my lie. He replied to my letter, saying that he would be back to England on the date and time I had specified. He also added that he'd be thinking of me constantly during those months and would be awaiting the day we'd meet again. For a pirate, he had a way with words. I read his letter with a heavy heart. Even after discovering I was pregnant with his child, I still had feelings for him.

I decided to tell my mother of the child growing within me before it became to physically apparent. This was a choice that I would later regret. With what virtue I had left, I told my mother the truth, in hope that she would help me conceal it from the rest of my family and reach a solution. I was so wrong. A prompt back-handed slap followed my lack of shame. As I lay in a heap upon the floor, begging her to forgive me, she furiously sputtered out how I was a whore and a slut and a harlot and how I'd disgraced my family and my name. To know she valued our reputation more than she valued me, crushed me more than words can describe. She stated that I'd receive no aid from her and that they would do nothing to hide what I had done, especially not give a bastard child the Wilfred name. It was either kill the child or leave the family. Though I had thought of doing what my mother ordered during those nine months of torture, ultimately I could not live with such a evil deed on my conscience. My only choice was to leave the manor with my newborn as soon as the midwife presented it. And that is what occurred. I was exiled from my family as if I never existed. My last hope of survival depended completely on David Sparrow.

That night, (not coincidentally the same date that our letters said we would meet again) I used the last of my money to pay for our regular room at the shabby bar where we had first conducted our affair, and there I waited for him. Some odd moments passed and I soon became fearful that he actually did not intend to meet me hereor some unnamed disaster had occurred. I placed my child on the pillow and sat down on the bed, in attempt to calm my growing nerves. When my anxiety was at it's peak and I began to hysterically ponder something, anything, I could do to cushion my fall from my once comfortable life, David entered without knocking. He began to walk towards me, but stopped once he saw my miserable expression and the babe asleep behind me. At that moment, he knew that my letter had been false. There was need to explain it to him. I believe that this was the only time in his life in which he was confused as to what to do. It was unexpected, yet he knew it was due time for something like this to happen to him. In honor of that, he approached the bed and sat beside me. I felt his arms wrap soothingly around my body, and as tempting as it was, I did not cry. We stayed there for a moment, both numb with the uncertainty of what should happen next. He shifted then said quietly, still holding me to him, "You bore me a lad, aye?"

I answered with a slight nod. David glanced at our son for only a moment. "What shall we name him, then?" David said and momentarily revived me from my paralysis.

This brought back memories of my childhood, when I would fantasize with my friends about who we'd marry and the desired names of our children. That seemed so long ago, though I had remembered what I always wanted to name my son. It was sharp and clever, the way I wished my boy to be.

I gathered the sleeping child in my arms. "Jack." I replied as a hint of the joy usually associated with birth broke through the clouds of this terrible situation.

David shook his head in agreement, though I suspected whatever name I chose he would have no argument with, causing the beads and shells he'd laced in his hair to move with soft noise. He looked down at his son and the thought crossed my mind to let him hold the child, but I could tell that David was still fearful of being a father, though he did a valiant job of masking it. I tried to enjoy the moment for what it was worth, but still wondered if this pirate would give up the sea and his freedom to help a shunned aristocrat raise his illegitimate son.

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Author' s Notes: I hope you've enjoyed this so far and I have a few things to say. Please review with constructive criticism, not flames. Flames waste both the reviewer's and the author's time. Also, I have done research on the location and time of this piece in accordance to the PotC movies, but really haven't gotten the solid research that I wanted. I've just estimated dates and locations that I think will go along most with the story, so if you have anything about dates, locations, ect., that would help me improve my aspiring story and make it more historically accurate, I'd love it if you would post it in your review. Anyway, I will be continuing on with the story no matter the amount of reviews I get. It does take me a bit of time to update because I do revise a lot, but if you enjoyed this you should expect many more updates. Thanks for reading, NOW REVIEW! By the way, I promise to never make author's notes this long again. Now that I look at it, it does seem ridiculously long. Oh well... _


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